


semi-professional gore whore

by ficfucker



Series: seduction through true crime - a dogtruth collection [10]
Category: Last Podcast on The Left (Podcast) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys Under Clothing, bottom!dogmeat, it's just sappy sex for dogtruth yall, service top!ben
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 18:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: marcus asks ben to top for the first time





	semi-professional gore whore

**Author's Note:**

> im always getting all sorts of requests for different dynamics so hopefully this fulfills!

“Would you top me?” Marcus asks, unprompted, breaking the silence they’ve been sitting in. Marcus has been playing Smash Bros for a while, Ben switching between fooling around on his phone and turning his attention over to Netflix.

“What, like a sundae? Am I the cherry in this scenario?” 

Marcus snorts and sets his Switch aside, worms over to Ben’s lap so his head rests on his thigh, looks up at Ben. “Good one, but I meant more in the terms of sex.”

“Oh. Sure then, if you want me to.” Ben drops his right hand down to Marcus’ hair, cards his fingers through it, and Marcus closes his eyes, hums. 

“No questions over it?”

“Nope. If I think about it too hard, I’ll be poking you in the back of the head with my erection.” 

Marcus laughs, body shaking, and Ben laughs too, watching him, mouth open and curling at the corners, hands over his stomach like a child. Ben thinks he looks pretty in a raw way. He’s glad it’s so easy to make Marcus laugh, how he hiccups on giggles and wheezes over the smallest things, and that Ben is there to enjoy it, is there to be the reason for it. 

“Good talk then.” Marcus gets up and stretches, cracks his back. “Want me to order dinner?” 

“Sure.”

Marcus nods, goes into the kitchen to get his phone from where he left it. 

And that’s that. 

* * *

  
  


It takes 2 days for Marcus to mention Ben topping him again. 

They’re taking the train back to Kissel’s place after leaving the studio and picking up lunch together, both of them standing close, gripping tight to the grab rails above them, when Marcus asks blankly, “How about tonight?”

Ben glances down at him, raises an eyebrow. “What’s that, Marcus?” 

“Tonight. Would you like to do that _ thing _ we discussed?” He gives Ben a nudge with his elbow for emphasis, not wanting to say it outright since there are so many people around, the subway as crowded as ever, including small children and families. 

It clicks with Ben and he blushes. “Oh. Yeah. Tonight’s fine.” 

Marcus smiles, nods, edges his body closer to Ben so they’re pressed seamlessly into each other’s sides. “Good. Tonight.” 

They’re quiet again and the train rattles and sways, groups around them talking or coughing in the general, endless hum of the city, but Ben’s attention stays on Marcus. He seems energized, caffeinated like he’s going to start buzzing and vibrating right through his skin and into Ben’s. It’s amusing and interesting, watching Marcus as he tries to lazily scroll through his phone, wanting so desperately to appear unmoved, unbothered, but Ben knows, and he’s never been in any kind of power like this before, not with Marcus, not sexually. 

Ben stoops down enough that his mouth is near to Marcus’ ear and murmurs, “You don’t have to worry, you know, it’s just me.” 

Marcus breathes funny and he chuckles. “It’s not that,” Marcus whispers back, “It’s the fact that I’m rocking a solid semi on the subway and there are _ children _ approximately four feet away from me.” 

“Oh.” Ben shakes his head, standing up straight, eyes slicing over the field of people they’re part of. “I’m new at this.”

Marcus snorts. “I can tell.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


They make it to Ben’s apartment all in one piece and as soon as the front door has been unlocked, opened, Marcus is all over Ben, spindly fingers reaching up to pull him into a heated kiss, crotch pressed desperately to Ben’s thigh so he can feel Marcus’ erection through their jeans. 

“Whoa, boy, down,” Ben laughs between kisses, putting his hands to Marcus’ shoulders. He kicks the door shut behind them. 

“Sorry,” Marcus says, unapologetic. “_ Experimentation _ gets me excited.” He does a mad scientist type voice, wriggles his fingers for effect. 

“Is that what this is? Me fucking you is experimentation in your book?”

Marcus runs his hands down Ben’s front, slips them under his white Gonzo shirt to paw at him. “It differs from our norm.” 

Ben kisses his cheek, his nose, near his eye, not caring to be precise, just wanting his mouth on Marcus. “I didn’t know any of what we do could be considered a ‘norm’.” 

“In the sense of a pattern, yes. Everything else? I’d say we’re _ pretty _ fuckin’ odd.” 

They shuffle to the couch where Marcus perches himself on top of Ben and kisses him aggressively, Ben’s hands finding their way under Marcus’ shirt to lay flat against his stomach or brush up and down his ribs, Marcus peeling off Ben’s jean jacket. It’s nice, but Ben also feels like he’s being smothered, so he takes Marcus by the hips and sits up, explains, “I need a breather. I thought you said ‘tonight’ on the train, not as soon as we got home.”

Marcus snorts, says, “Jumpin’ the gun again.”

“You that excited to have me up your ass?” Ben turns him around, faced away from him, and tucks him into his lap, head resting on Marcus’ shoulder, thick arms coiled around him securely, like at any moment, Marcus will fill with helium and float away. He traces the bulging race tracks of veins raised on the backs of his hands with his fingers, feels Marcus shiver under him, that vibrating, electric energy surging again, radiating its way into Ben. 

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve been training.” 

Ben raises an eyebrow, hums his confusion. 

“Right. I keep forgetting you’re the _most_ _vuh-nilla_ man on the planet—”

“Oh, I am _ not _. I let you do that thing with the handcuffs and-and I didn’t say no to—”

Marcus laughs. “Handcuffs _ are _ vanilla!”

Ben makes an exasperated noise, which he is always seeming to do with Marcus in his life, in the most loving way, of course, grumbles, and says, “Okay well, just say what it was you were going to say.” 

“Anal training, Ben, is when you stretch yourself to accommodate larger sizes,” Marcus says, switching into the smooth, explanatory voice he uses on the show to talk about the process of serial killers dismembering bodies. “Some people start with fingering only and work up to insertion from there-”

“Okay, yep, I think I get the picture here—”

“Good starters are anal toys, glass or platinum silicone, designed for training, like plugs or slender dildos shaped for the use—”

“Yes, Marcus! I understand now, thank you!”

“—of stretching and training with a goal in mind.” 

Ben clamps a hand over Marcus’ mouth, who instantly dissolves into a fit of giggles, and says, “Yes, Marcus Parks, thank you _ very _ much, the point has been made.” 

Marcus peels Ben’s fingers away, holds them in his lap, scissors them open and closed, and Ben can’t decide if the gesture is innocent or dirty. “What I was trying to get at is I have a butt plug in.”

If Ben was drinking water, he would’ve choked, but instead, he just sputters and it turns into a shocked laugh. “Jesus, Marcus! Warn a guy first.”

“Me talking about _anal_ _training_ wasn’t _enough _of a warning for you?” 

“Well, I hadn’t assumed it was - that you meant right this very instance!” Ben hasn’t thought too heavily about how hot it will be to top, has been turned on because Marcus is turned on and showing it in a frenzied display, but imaging Marcus having something in him, suddenly has Ben hyper-aware of his body. “How long, uhm— when did you—”

“When we got lunch,” Marcus says plainly, as if discussing the weather. He places Ben’s hands over his thighs, fingers curled around the denim of his jeans so his first knuckles rest on the seams, body burning hot through the layers. “In the bathroom.”

“Oh. Huh.” Ben wets his lips and kisses Marcus on the throat, tightens his grip on his thighs, which gets Marcus to squirm and wiggle in his lap. It’s kind of gross to think rationally about: putting in a sex toy in a public bathroom, especially a New York public bathroom of all places, but Ben is coming to learn that most things with Marcus are gross. And the grossness sometimes, weirdly, turns him on. 

“So, is it safe to take this to the bedroom, or do you still want to wait until tonight?” Marcus asks, teasing, grinding down on Ben, who huffs. 

“Goodness,” he breathes. Ben’s erection is poking Marcus in the ass, tenting uncomfortably in the thick denim of his jeans and there’s no doubt Marcus can feel it. “Well, I don’t think I can say no to that _ kind _ of offer.” 

Marcus stands and faces Ben, hand outstretched, shoulder raised to coyly cover part of his face, bottom lip pushed out, eyelashes batting. “So you’ll lie with me, Benjamin? You’ll make looooove to me?” he coos, giggling.

Ben rolls his eyes, but takes Marcus’ hand, lets himself be lead to his bedroom. “‘Lie with’? That’s pretty uh, archaic, isn’t it?”

Marcus flops down on the edge of the bed and starts shucking off his jeans, says, “Well, last time I called it _ shagging _ or _ boinkin’ _ you made a face like… like I’d killed a cat.” 

Ben watches him, long pale legs being pulled from their trousers, plain, black panties revealed. “So my options are college stoner lingo or Catholic grandmother who doesn’t believe in birth control?” 

“I thought I’d go for something more delicate for a sensitive, religious boy like yourself.” With that said, Marcus stands and his jeans fall away, revealing the print on the front of his black underwear: red lettering that says “GORE WHORE” over the crotch. 

“Delicate? Sensitive?” Ben laughs, leaning down to capture Marcus’ mouth in an open-smile kiss, hands going to his hips to pull playfully at the fabric. “While wearing _ this _? Where did you even get…?” 

"Fan sent 'em." Marcus kisses back, trailing his fingers down Ben's front until he reaches his fly, starts to undo his jeans, nose to nose while Marcus looks intensely at him, his lips mostly, speaking against his mouth. “Pretty good, too. Like, quality is nice.”

"Ah, of course, I should've guessed." Ben takes a step back to let his jeans drop away, start to shuck down his plaid print boxers, and he catches Marcus' eyes: watching him, eyes large and ghoulish, arousal pressing obviously to the front of the thin, sheer panties. It makes Ben blush, almost want to turn away like they're in a locker room and he's noticed a lingering stare. 

"Now _ you _ look nervous," Marcus observes, sitting back down on the edge of Ben's bed. He grabs the remote and clicks on the television, scrolls through Netflix to find something to play. 

"I'm not…," Ben shakes his head, laughs quietly, standing there in his underwear halfway pulled off. "Bein' looked at like-like I’m all that an’ a bag of chips is— it’s strange!” And it’s true: the feeling is maybe only comparable to when strangers look at him with shocked amazement over his height, but with Marcus there are unabashed stares, something Ben is not exactly accustomed to. It makes his heart fast, his face red with the way Marcus looks at him like he’s something real attractive, like he could eat him. 

Marcus folds one leg over the other and raises an eyebrow, puts on a tame documentary about American history, and looks over at Ben who is out of his boxers, pursing his lips. “We could always try blindfolds, like I offered,” he jokes, leaning up to swing his arms around Ben’s shoulders, pull him down into a heated but tender kiss. His way of cementing his attraction to Ben, despite all the insecurities and joshing. 

Ben hums, pushing Marcus back in the bed, crawling over him. “Maybe next time.” 

“Noted.” Marcus pulls off his own shirt and grabs at Ben’s, peels it off him, then slips into it, much to Ben’s confused delight, big white shirt hanging starkly off him. 

Ben kisses him again, kisses the corner of his mouth and the spot right under his eye, and Marcus giggles, tries to lick him, and Ben pulls away, wrinkling his nose, goes to grab a condom from his nightstand, the bottle of lube. “Have I told you recently that you’re a fuckin’ weirdo?” he asks, tearing the foil and pulling out the condom to roll over himself, seated back on his heels, Marcus splayed out in front of him. 

“Depends on how recent is recent. And your definition of weirdo.” Marcus reaches out and strokes Ben firmly once the condom is on, offers out his hand for Ben to drizzle some lube on it, and he does. “Sometimes you just say I’m a twisted fucker.”

“Same thing, I guess. Just makin’ sure you know.” 

Marcus snickers and leans back, raises his hips to shimmy out of those painfully small panties, discard them over the edge of the bed. “You really know how to turn a man on. Call me twisted and I’ll shoot off real fuckin’ quick.” 

“Oh, trust me, I believe it.” Ben lifts Marcus’ legs up and catches a glimmer of fake-jewel red, realizes this is the toy peeking out, and he blushes deeply, feels his pulse thrum in his neck. He’s suddenly hyperaware of how naked he is. “You uh, want to—?”

“You take it out,” Marcus says softly. “Just go gentle on me.” 

Ben nods and licks his lips, curls his fingers around the silver rim as best he can, and gives it an easy, short tug, notices how Marcus’ thighs drawn up tight from that, and he whistles a breathe out. Marcus nods, so Ben continues, pulling at the silver bulb slowly until it gives and slips out fully, and Ben kind of marvels dumbly at it for a moment, looking at it, before he sets it carefully on his bedside table. 

“Uh, wow,” he says. 

Marcus giggles, an edge of embarrassment to it, and his face is red, too, a dark scarlet, and he props up on his elbows, kisses Ben. Ben kisses im back, surging up a little ways to reach, and Marcus is fully under him now, knees bracketing slender, pale thighs, hands pressed into the mattress on both sides of Marcus’ shoulders. Marcus spreads his legs, presenting, and Ben presses a finger against him, which slips in easy, slick from whatever he used to prep earlier. 

Marcus clenches, goes taut under Ben like he’s been electrocuted, and Ben breaks their kiss, which was starting to get sloppy, pulls his finger away, asks, “Goodness, Marcus, are you sure you’re alright with this?”

“Yeah, it’s just, I think I’ve come to realize in full that I’m about to let my best friend and coworker of several years fuck me in the ass.” 

“Oh.” Ben makes a face like he’s thinking hard about it. Marcus has fucked Ben before and he didn’t seem too caught up in their dynamic, ruining their friendship or whatever, but Ben understands, it can still be scary even when it’s not exactly new. “Well, we can stop if you want to.” 

Marcus shakes his head and tilts his body up, puts his palms to the sides of Ben’s face, and they kiss, a long, slow, soft kiss, the kind you give to your high school sweetheart after you make love on the football field and really do want to spend your life with them. “No, I wanna do this.” Marcus ghosts his thumb over Ben’s bottom lip, blue eyes intense and piercing, calculated like a bird of prey. “Besides, all that prep would be for nothing if we stopped now.” 

“Marcus, that’s a _ terrible _ way of thinking of sex,” Ben scolds, but he laughs, and Marcus twists into a smile, dropping back down into the sheets, looking very small. 

“Yes, but it’s true, and with all this nervousness and hesitation, I can _ feel _ my asshole tightening shut more and more with each passing second.” 

Ben sticks his tongue out, but they both smile, and Ben shuffles back a bit to realign the situation: brushing his index and middle fingers gingerly over Marcus’ hole, gripping his cock to line up, moving Marcus’ legs a little further up, knees almost to his chest. 

“Ready?” Ben asks, because he has to.

Marcus nods and glances away a split second, a tell, and he says softly, “Go for it, big guy.” 

Ben presses himself against Marcus, the slightest tug of resistance, and then he’s sliding in slowly, a velvet drag, and Marcus groans, body tensing for a quick moment before his eyes flash with awareness and he goes loose, almost comically so. 

“Jesus, Marcus, you don’t have to play dead,” Ben whispers. “I’m just tryna keep from hurtin’ ya.”

“Right,” Marcus breathes. “Sometimes I forget you’re not actually Ed Kemper with that height.” 

Ben makes a face that’s broken by the pleasure of what he’s doing and he slips in fully, sheathed, Marcus twitching and breathing curiously under him. “If you keep talking serial killers I’ll— my dick’ll go soft inside you. I’m not even joking.” 

Marcus snickers and his eyes crinkle shut. 

“I mean, how many times do we have to have this conversation? It should be simple.”

Marcus spreads his legs apart and wraps his thighs around Ben, heels pressing into his soft lower back and tugging him slightly forward, the centimeter deeper he can go, and Marcus makes a small purring coo. “Right. Got it, Ben. No more of that during sex.” Marcus exhales through his nose, seems to be surveying the situation, and he adds, “You can move now you know.” 

Ben listens to instruction and experimentally rolls his hips, punches out a gutted moan at the feeling, head bowed down so their foreheads touch, and Marcus kisses his chin, puts his hands up to his chest, cups him. 

“Lord, Marcus,” Ben grits.

Marcus whimpers quietly, letting his body be jerked sloppily by Ben with each shuddering thrust, bites his bottom lip. “Lord Marcus has… a nice ring to it.” 

“Just be regular Marcus right now.” 

Ben reaches down between them and takes Marcus' cock in his hands, starts to stroke him carefully, keenly aware of his reactions, the way he subtly tightens or twitches around him, and moves his hand and hips accordingly, listens closely to the way Marcus breathes and gasps. 

Marcus goes quiet other than some small, high noise when Ben rolls into him, still slow and gentle, body bowed over Marcus on the bed, both of them just breathing, the television making soft noise from behind them. 

"That's good, Ben," Marcus murmurs, honeyed smile spreading over his face slowly, real dreamy. "Real good, Ben…" 

Ben doesn't know what to say to that, an "I love you" or "Thank you" could be right, but he's focused too hard on not shooting off then and there, with how tight and warm Marcus is, the sweetness to his voice dropping hotly to his stomach. He just "Mmm"s, thrusts a bit faster. 

Marcus, always the more talkative of the two, continues, hands carding through the hair on the back of Ben’s head, “Next time… I should hh— get you a pretty little leash and collar.” He moans sharply at a certain thrust, clamps his mouth over Ben’s collarbone before adding, “Hold it while you f-fuck me, Ben. Would you like that?”

Ben doesn’t know. He’s never tried something like that, being collared and leashed, but the idea is appealing and Ben is finding that he likes whatever it is Marcus suggests despite typically being kinks or scenes he’d never think to try in a million years. “Yeah,” he pants. “That— sounds nice.” The thought of Marcus tugging him along, praising him and moaning, makes his lower stomach clench. 

“Get a pillow.” 

Ben listens, grabs a one, and slips it under Marcus’ ass so it propped up an inch higher and that must be the angle, because Marcus yelps and whines, eyes wrenching shut, cords of his neck bulging as he strains back. Ben strokes him, frantic yet uncoordinated, really pounding into him now, unafraid of hurting him, certain that if he slips up, Marcus will surely tell him. 

“So good for me, Ben,” he keeps repeating, running his nails lightly up and down Ben’s bareback, jittering and twisting when Ben hits him right, or when Ben grips him tightly in his fist, the wetness between them making a particularly obscene squelch, accompanied by the slap of skin. “Fucking me so well…” 

Ben groans and closes his mouth over Marcus’, presses his tongue past his teeth aggressively, and Marcus squeaks, goes limp under him into the mattress, nails biting crescent moons into Ben’s shoulder blades. He’s getting close, can feel it warming and welling in his stomach, and he knows the praise will do him in, focuses hard on kissing Marcus, the small bites he delivers to his bottom lip. 

Marcus reaches down between them and takes his cock into his own hands, starts to jerk himself hysterically, face twisting up, stomach heaving harshly beneath the oversized shirt he’s in. Ben watches him as he thrusts, hair falling over his face, kicking out in the back around his ears, damp with light sweat, and he looks so pretty, taken apart, eyes wild, eyebrows together. 

“Go on, Marcus,” Ben coaxes, kissing down his throat. 

“Gah— F-Fuck, Ben,” he shudders. He brings his knees up, digs the heels of his feet into small of Ben’s back to keep him pressed deeply inside him then swallows down a big gulp of air, body tightening, thighs shaking, and he comes, streaks over Ben’s stomach and shirt, sags his legs down to let Ben continue his thrusting. “Oh, _ Christ _, Ben, my good boy,” he pants. 

Ben quivers, Marcus tight and hot around him, and it only takes another moment more before he’s coming, inside Marcus inside the condom, driving into him without any coordination other than chasing his release, Marcus chirping and gasping under him. “Oh, M-Marcus,” he groans, and he crashes their mouths together, kisses him like he’s trying to lick out a flame, and Marcus hums, lips twisting into a smile. 

Ben grips the base of his cock and pulls out a moment later, once he’s got his brain about him again, and peels off the condom, ties the end, drops it into the trash near his bed. Marcus reaches for a tissue, wipes off Ben’s stomach best he can and tries to do the same with his stolen shirt, discards the tissues in the trash along with the condom. 

Marcus retrieves his GORE WHORE panties from the floor and pulls them back on, offers Ben his plaid boxers, and Ben gets into them, rolling over in bed so they’re facing each other. Marcus rests his head to Ben’s bare chest, kisses his chin. 

“Shit, man,” he breathes, on the edge of a laugh. “That was… That was really nice, Ben.” 

Ben throws an arm around him and pulls him closer, tired and sweaty, wanting to be as close to Marcus as he possibly can. “Mhm. Glad I get to be the friend and coworker that fucks you in the ass.”

Marcus giggles and yawns, puts a leg over Ben’s thigh, tangling them further into the other. “_ Boyfriend _,” he corrects softly. 

“Actually, I think the correct term is gore whore.” Ben pulls the elastic band of Marcus’ panties and thwacks him, says, “According to these.” They haven’t much used boyfriend yet and Ben feels his heart get faster, but they’re both syrupy with post-orgasm tiredness, so he doesn’t press the excitement any, just lets them both be. 

“Marcus Parks: semi-professional gore whore. And Ben Kissel, his loyal service top.” 

Ben kisses his cheek, presses his nose into the side of his face until Marcus giggles and pushes him playfully away. “Sounds like a shitty creepypasta. Like a bad Jekyll and Hyde ripoff.” 

Marcus snorts. He closes his eyes and breathes, says, “Love you, by the way.”

“Oh. I love you, too.” And Ben means it, recurls his fingers around Marcus’ boney shoulder, closes his eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is wildly self-indulgent but lmk if you guys want more bottom!dogmeat or something completely different
> 
> kudos + comments are appreciated; thank you for reading!
> 
> talk to me on tmblr @ficfucker


End file.
